


Oh Dangerman

by Gymnopedies (Blancmange)



Category: Tears for Fears (Band)
Genre: M/M, no disturbing themes possibly see beginning notes, the 2004 reunion goes a step deeper I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 22:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12945378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blancmange/pseuds/Gymnopedies
Summary: your blade fits like a glove





	Oh Dangerman

**Author's Note:**

> A due disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I am in no way associated with the individuals portrayed nor intend to make any insinuations regarding their personal lives, habits or preferences.
> 
> *
> 
> I HAVE SINNED
> 
> This is the first RPF I have ever posted. I have written quite a few before but had no idea I could post them anywhere (for which I will be eternally grateful to all the gods of modern world). It took me an absurdly long amount of time to finish, for most of which I wasn't even willing to.
> 
> I don't really like summarizing the entire fic in the tags, so I put none: there are no particularly problematic themes here either way though, if you don't see hair pulling as one.
> 
> This is dedicated to certain three users whose handles I'm not going to drop, but who have more or less directly made me look at this from a different perspective.

 

Roland's not sure what is he doing. He’s not all that sure how did he wind up in a situation like this. One thing led to another, and before he realized he was on his bed with Curt to the side, propping his head with one hand and running the another up and down his upper body, feeling for every one of its curves and shapes.

 

The budding desire is hardly an outline in the dim light. The flesh and muscle is reacting to every touch and stroke, however gentle; fingertips trace the shape of blushed lips in a fashion nothing short of worship as Roland turns his head to face the other one.

 

_ Reach out and make me complete, even if it was to be just a short stop in your run, for every fiber of my flesh and every spark of my life had never belonged to anybody but you, just you _ … 

 

… but should he allow him to keep going? There's a mess in his head as he reaches out and runs his hand through the short hair of Curt’s. He kind of misses the unruly bangs he once had, his rat tails and how he would spend so much time in the evening, sifting them through his fingers while Curt nodded off with his head on his lap, or how the bangs would stick to his sweat slicked forehead when they two… 

 

He’s still trapped in his head, conflicted within himself beyond human perception; tight in the clutches of suffocating nostalgia _.What exactly went wrong? Where did we make a mistake? _

 

_ Somehow it feels like it was bound to happen at some point, though. _

 

He’s dizzy, he feels like crying; of despair and of happiness at the same time.  _ It’s time to move on, you don't need him for anything more. You buried the hatchet, but this is where a line has to be drawn,  _ his subconscious says. Still, neither that less reasonable part of his mind nor his very body are having any of it, though. His heated, nervously shifting body is desperate and aching all over for him.

 

Roland’s actually dying for his touch everywhere, especially where it now begins to feel quite hot, tight and tender. It's been too long, too long since he's been truly, deeply  _ dying  _ for someone. It’s only now when he realizes how much he missed Curt around; how much he’d been pining for him and how too proud he was to admit it.

 

_ Yet somewhere deep inside, a shred of hurt pride still lingers. _

 

'Feels really good to finally… become worth your time.' he sighs wistfully, cupping Curt’s hand which has by now reached his neck with his own. The other man raises a brow as he pulls away, giving him a dirty look and awaiting explanation.

 

'Why, you sounded pretty sure back then when you told me I wasn't.'

 

'So have you-- when you kindly informed me that you wasted so much of yours on me and wished we never met.  _ Good riddance _ , wasn't it?' Curt snaps, suddenly rising himself to swing his legs off the bed. 'Oh- I almost forgot to ask; is your Virgo in my Neptune yet? Have you checked your crystal ball for it?'

 

'You should see your face right now,' he comments, looking at Roland's broken expression; his voice resentful and hurt. 'You wanted a taste of your own medicine? There you have it.'

 

The silence that falls between them is overwhelming, and for a moment Roland is sure he’s completely wasted it all, that this precious second chance they decided to give each other is gone. With tears welling up in his eyes, he crawls from behind; closer to Curt and wraps his arms around him, like a hopeless, forlorn child.

 

'Out of all things… is it all  _ we _ can remember?' he murmurs, barely holding back a sob as he tightens his grasp; just as if his whole life was to depend on it, on this one desperate embrace. 'I didn't want… I didn't mean… that. We can do better than that. Much better.'

 

Their gazes met each other as Curt turns around just slightly, and Roland's heart skips a beat when he realizes that nothing has changed in these eyes he used to see so much fascination, admiration and desire in. It’s clear and sharp a feeling, and he's sure of it like he's possibly never been of anything. A lot must have though changed when he wasn't around, but what he can see now is the same thing; a glimmer of love he thought he lost forever.

 

'I  _ still  _ love you-' ...something breaks inside him, and it's something he fully succumbs to. He finally comes clear about it; his voice cracks into a whine so pitiful it makes his stomach twist and teeth clatter in embarrassment. Rising to his knees and eventually straddling Curt’s, Roland reaches out his trembling hands to hold onto his cheeks and lift his head up, so they now face each other; their noses rubbing and lips just inches apart. '...actually, I never stopped. And I don't need a crystal ball to know it.'

 

It feels to him like treading into a flock of obnoxious, noisy birds. As he takes a step, they take off sharply all at once; one could believe they never were there. After a brief commotion, the path is clear again and he can continue to walk forward. 

 

The birds were all of the heavy, bitter feelings of letdown, abandonment, heartache and confusion Curt brought upon him. And his destination is their future together; through thick and thin, and he can only hope it's his as well. 

 

Roland knows that the confession alone won't do the job. It's never that easy. A plenty of work is still ahead of them to make things right again; both as artists  _ and _ as lovers. As petty as that quarrel was, it felt therapeutic, almost as if he was waiting for such one to happen so he could open up so much. When all the facets of a relationship need to be put in right order again, points of view will clash. But his hopes are high. 

 

The kiss he’s pulled into by Curt is deep and ravenous, it hardly gives either of them a chance to catch a breath. It sends electric shivers down his spine, and it feels heavenly. It almost distracts him from his nimble fingers sliding down and undoing the buttons of his shirt as they go. 

 

Roland tries to push and make their tongues touch; he's almost there when Curt rolls him off his lap and on his back again. A quiet grunt he lets out as his body collides with the mattress is all he manages to utter before he has Curt pinning him down and promptly directing his attention back to disrobing him. 

 

'This is also what I remembered.' 

 

He is mewling with desire as Curt’s hands crawl up his upper body and spread the now undone shirt open. The steady flow of stimulation combined with the air now so enticingly cool against his heated skin, lets a wave of goosebumps spread all over its surface, directly following a gentle shudder.

 

'mmm… ooh my...' Curt croons in awe, taking no more time to bury his face in Roland's abdomen, savoring the grainy texture with sloppy kisses and lazy, broad licks. He’s always found this silly reflex  _ so cute,  _ a one _ dead giveaway  _ of how little Roland would ever need to become all his; all steamy and submissive.

 

_______________________________________________________

  
  


The room temperature is though perfectly comfortable and far from cold. Still, Roland is shaking like a leaf; almost anxious with arousal as he gets his bottoms taken off with a few sharp tugs. This renders him almost completely nude now, with his shirt slipping halfway down his arms as he leans against his hands. 

 

As he hunches his head forward, a curtain of wavy hair drapes over his face; some of the tresses jump up, carried by his deep, urgent huffs. It’s a point of no return. There's no taking this one back, but it's not even like he wants to.

 

'Stay back there.' Curt's still taking his goddamn time with him, a bit busy getting himself and everything else ready for what's ahead. He tries his best to be tauntingly indifferent to Roland’s impatient whines, just occasionally treating himself to a glance shot at him; all hot and jittery, immobilized by desire as he slips onto his elbows.

 

'You look pretty… needy.  _ Desperate _ , I'd say,' he mutters as nests himself comfortably in between his lover’s slightly spread legs, petting and stroking everything within his reach. 'Mmm, good. Now look.'

 

'Eh?'

 

A quiet, rumbling grunt is drawn out of Roland as with little more in the way of preamble, Curt wraps almost whole of his mouth around him. It's warm, it's hard and throbbing, and the feeling has him let out muffled, pleasured groans and murmurs. The tongue is swirling around, lapping up beads of natural fluid as it seeps gently; making sure to not lose anything. 

 

The tip is now pressing into and dragging over that certain small ridge of skin, making Roland’s muscles tighten and twitch and his lips spit moans and whimpers. 'D-don’t stop- oh please-please… it's- uh, y-you’re so good...'

 

Curt's casting his gaze up as he puts his mouth to work generously, clasping his hand over what didn't fit. He’s hoping to lock it with the other’s; he instead is met with a sight of the latter’s head tossed back, his jaw slack and slightly trembling, throaty whines bleeding into his strained breath.

 

'please-please-please-'

 

'I'm not going to give you more- unless you look me straight in the eye,' Curt taunts, freeing his mouth in a purposefully loud, vulgar way and switching the attention he gave to him to his hand; further limiting it to just tips of his fingers running up and down the length.

 

'In the... eye...' Roland echoes faintly, shifting his head more upright.

 

'Right now,' he mutters, as he lets his lips slide languidly over the very tip; scooping more of the slick, salty dew right onto his tongue and finishing off with one more small lick. 'Come on, beg for me some more. Tell me how good I am.' A deep bob of Curt’s head, almost throat-deep, precedes even more teasing. 'You're so cute when you do it. Just  _ let me hear it again.' _

 

He's already well back on the track when he finally earns what he wants; Roland's face is flushed bright pink, his eyes foggy, wet and darkened with need as they drill into his. This moment of connection between them is of absolutely the filthiest kind; but once established, it's too hypnotizing to cut off.

 

_ He is gorgeous,  _ Curt notices.  _ Still so gorgeous.  _ His features, though now slightly sharpened by age, were still so alluring and elegant;  _ it must be that bit of southern blood in him,  _ he ponders.

 

In that one moment, he feels Roland’s palm snaking up on the top of his head; fingers weaving through his hair and raking the scalp in a gentle,  _ loving  _ way. By now, he appears to be completely unravelled, moaning shamelessly into his other hand he cupped his mouth with; bucking his hips softly against Curt’s face. This is more than words.  _ You're fantastic. Keep going, this is what I want. _

 

'Oh my-oh my I'm going to-oh--'

 

'Whew-- looks like it… but no, you're not,' Curt exclaims deadpan as he tugs at the tip; tender, blushed and glistening with fluids, earning a displeased gasp and yet another perturbed twitch of Roland's body.

 

'Ooww, what do you think you're doing?' he whines, somewhat annoyed, tipping his head to the side. A wide smile brightens his face in a way so brazen and disarming Curt couldn't have any less doubts about it; he's getting playful about it, he’s teasing as well. And why, yes, he's  _ absolutely _ going to let himself fall for it.

 

'I'm teaching you a lesson in patience,' he mutters as he goes on to spreading Roland's legs even further apart, in an eager, almost possessive manner. 'Being slightly more patient has never hurt anyone, I think.'

 

'Haven't I been already way too patient with you?'

  
  
  


__________________________________________

  
  


That first moment after taking it in is the worst. It has Roland’s face twist in discomfort, his breath come out in laboured gasps and his nails sink hard into Curt’s biceps as he straddles him. This is the moment he always does regret giving in a bit. Even with ample time spent on preparation, it is a sensation still a little tougher to get used to; a one way different than these skilled, agile digits that would work him open and ready not so long ago, every motion striking up a fire within him. 

 

It gets better later on; it more often than not does, he reminds himself. Curt knows about all of this, too, all too well, keeping his actions careful and reserved, riding his hands reassuringly up and down the former’s thighs.

 

''It's fine,'' Roland lets out an airy whisper as his lips travel to Curt’s ear, ''just fine-'' a quiet curse is torn out of him as he's moved, filled slow but steady. It does take a while but once he feels comfortable enough, he proceeds to sway his hips in a rhythmical, exploratory way, catering the motions to these of other’s. _Oh god._ It's still rather off from pure pleasure, but it's not really painful, either; it's _good._ It _is_ getting better with every move, just as he expected it to, especially when he feels Curt’s hand pulling and tugging at him, the pad of the thumb sketching circles into sensitive flesh.

 

Roland’s gaze is trained completely on his face as he leans in closer,propping himself on his hands. In between yet quiet gasps and kitten whines, he cracks a smile: revelling in Curt’s mouth falling open and warming his with quick breaths, watching his eyes close gently and mellow in equally intensifying bliss. It feels so soothing. The ambience accompanying them melts into a weird kind of white noise in his head; earning a long, pleased sigh out of him. 

 

'You  _ still  _ feel so good.'

 

Nestling his face in the crook of the other's neck, Roland closes his eyes slightly to fully immerse himself in the moment, to let it flow through each and every one of his senses. His whole world has now narrowed to Curt, to his own pelvis grinding against him, to a pair of hands running up his entire frame until they reach his head and weave into dark locks.

 

Something white hot is forming in his body, radiating from behind brief jabs of pain, and it has him cry out in an increasingly vocal fashion. It's for once again that one  _ perfect, dreamy angle  _ that is achieved; every well aimed stroke starts driving Roland into frenzy, swamping him in near ecstasy.

 

 _His voice is so sultry, so vibrant_ even when he's slowly reduced to begging, sobbing mess. _He's always been like that;_ and it’s not like Curt minds it in the slightest. He loves it, and laughs in the privacy of his mind at all these times he had to at least t r y to curb this behaviour of his down lest anyone around hear them getting this kind of busy. But right now, they're all alone and on their own, so their bodies and their voices can be truly honest and free for each other.

 

Each and every one of these desperate noises he’s making; the hitched breathing, the intense, mindless calls of his name, the depraved pleas and remarks moaned into his ear; they're flying punches of otherworldly arousal right into Curt’s gut and getting his hands to grasp tighter onto the other’s hips. So hot, so shameless, so good; oh god so good. 

 

This is just what they both needed all along. 

 

For the first time in all these years, they become an exquisitely tuned clockwork of emotions, sensations and something else neither of them can quite put a finger on, but it could be just  _ pure lust. _

 

As Curt gets Roland to slow down and give him a kiss, or two, he raises himself from the previous position; angling a leg for support, he leans against the elbow of one hand and strokes the other’s side with the palm of the other. He goes on to reminisce on that one fight they had just recently, the one where Roland griped to him about how he 'couldn't care less' about his thoughts or feelings; how he doesn't know anything about him, 'you only know what's my name, and I'm not sure even about this one'.

 

('Your this, your that, your whatever else, why does it have to be all about you, again?' Curt barked in response. 'How do you get so self-absorbed?', he wondered later. 'Didn't he learn anything?')

 

( _ Didn't…  _ we  _ learn anything?) _

 

They have worked this one out, eventually, but Curt felt he could now use it in his advance; to try something that now could either make Roland see stars before his eyes or launch him into fury. It’s  _ foolhardy, but worth the risk.  _

 

'See, darling,' he murmurs into another brief kiss they shared, 'there's a thing about you... I happen to know, after all.' 

 

''I know...what you... like...,'' his gasping voice is oozing anticipation and vivid excitement as he weaves the fingers of his one hand through Roland’s hair, wrapping most of them into a sloppy fistful. ''what you r e a l l y... want…, deep inside...''

 

''Oh...''

 

''This is what you've been waiting for for so long now.''

 

'I'm...going to-', Curt grunts as his grip tightens, 'tear these-off-your-head,'' he slurs, every word punctuated with a yank, each one harder than the other, causing Roland’s neck to arch back along and his core to clench; a shrill cry rolling off his lips.

 

There wasn't a single cruel or sadistic bone in Curt, but listening to how pain and  _ pleasure _ bled through each other in Roland's howls was something  _ entirely different. _ It was a turn on unlike any other to see and hear him essentially  _ beg for it, beg for that pain,  _ indulge in being humiliated and helpless, try to free himself from the vice grip. Not quite to break free, but only to  _ add  _ to his high. 

 

''You’re so-o-o noisy. You don’t like that? Poor thing. Would you... miss your pretty locks? You want me to let go? Tell me..., or not, I'll do what I want... anyway-'' he rasps tauntingly, mouthing hard at and sucking onto the other man’s chin. Another two strong pulls push another piercing wail out of Roland, making him quiver and twitch all over; after which he resumes railing himself at hard, steady pace, _so close to his breaking point, so close._ Having finally released himself from the grasp, he combs the tresses with his fingers and away from his face; all of them in total dishevel, some forming a loose, messy knot on top of his head.

 

It doesn't look like it’s going to take a lot of time anymore for Curt, either. It builds up slowly but steadily, making him slump on his back again and his head press into the mattress as he arches slightly. Roland hunches sharply over him, stretching out his arms to lean against his chest to regain support; only to straighten his back soon after and begin to ride him in earnest, with what little might have left of his previous hesitation thrown to the wind.

 

This display of eagerness spurs Curt on. Once more tightening his grasp, he puts Roland’s pliant, hungry body in an erratic rhythm that earns a surprised shriek out of him, and almost drives both of them insane. 

 

''Yes, please…,'' he pants in between fervent, lustful moans, ''oh god- _ yes-  _ use me  _ all you want- _ ''

 

Curt closes his eyes and focuses on the pricks and shivers running down his spine, on the heat he can feel almost as far as in his curling toes.

 

''...Are you done yet…?- _oh fuck_ you must be...please? please. Let me _feel you come... just let me._ I want that so bad, let me _, ah yes- scream for me--_ ''

 

Just as Roland bends closer to Curt once again, he feels the latter’s palm clamp over his head; pushing it forward and once again pulling at his hair, bringing a fresh wave of searing pain to his still throbbing scalp.  _ It’s more than enough.  _ Letting out a string of expletives and melodic grunts, he bucks a couple times, clawing red marks into his lover’s shoulders; his release warm and wet against his belly.

 

He rides his ecstasy out for a few seconds more, eventually sending the other one over his own edge. Taken almost by surprise, shaken to the core, Curt lets out a strained, delirious cry; most of which lands inside that one more, passionate kiss they two share. 

 

_____________________________________________

 

There seems to be little more left when the carnal needs are satisfied and the fires of passion are hardly smoldering. Little things come to an end but make way for much bigger, much more important ones. 

 

But Roland doesn’t feel like overthinking things anymore, at least for now. It's now nothing else anymore but the glow of fulfilment, bliss  _ and  _ ordinary exhaustion that makes it too hard to twitch a finger or keep his eyes open.

 

It’s Curt’s warm, pleasantly coarse skin against his own; still a bit slick, the sound of his already calm breathing and his heartbeat slowly fading back to a normal rhythm.

 

_ Did it happen too soon? Perhaps we should have waited longer.  _ But how long is really long enough, and how soon is really too soon? Roland doesn't want to think about anything of that anymore; now that when he's happy again, safe in Curt’s love he finally came to realize once again.


End file.
